I'm Done
by xTessaTimmerman
Summary: Because, in the end, Molly Hooper was done. Trigger warning: Suicide
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own Sherlock. **

**Just a drabble. **

**Because, in the end, Molly Hooper was done.**

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In the end, Molly Hooper didn't count.

At least, that's what she thought after the last straw.

Molly Hooper was done.

She was broken, her heart shattered. She stood in her bathroom,, which was empty and cold, with the blade in her hand. She knew it was the weak thing to do, to walk away from your responsibilities, but saw no other way. Her thoughts flickered over her whole life.

High school, where she had met a certain Consulting Detective, who was her only friend. That was, of course, if friends talked down on you, manipulated you into doing as they pleased, if they deduced every little aspect of your life, leaving you in tears after.

Molly let out a small smile at the memory of Sherlock in high school. She had always been there for him. Helping him through his addiction, his family issues, everything. But he was never there when she needed him. She had called him in tears, telling him her father had died, and he told her that 'sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side' and hung up.

Then she thought about the first time she saw him in the morgue. She hadn't seen him for over 5 years. He looked better, clean, and she was about to tell him that when he looked at her with those cold, icy-blue, beautiful eyes, which didn't show any kind of recognition. He demanded to see a body, and Molly suspected he'd deleted her, a trick he could do. That night was spent in tears, curled up on the couch by herself.

Then she thought about the previous afternoon.

Sherlock had come in the lab, demanding she'd help him with an experiment. He took one look at her and started his deducing.

_ "Your eyes are red and puffy, your hair is a mess and the make-up you are currently wearing to hide the bags under your eyes is smeared by your tears." Sherlock said, not giving her another glance. _

_Molly ignored his comments, not letting him know she was breaking inside._

_ "Miss Hooper, do stop sulking about the fact that it is the anniversary of your father death and do your job, you are acting rather unprofessional. " again, he was ignored._

_Molly didn't want to give him the satisfaction of her tears, she had ran out of them anyways._

_ "If you behave like this every time you have something to be emotional about, I can understand you do not have any relations. It is highly likely that this is your high school experience all over again, isn't it?"_

_Now, Molly was done. She was done with the way the Detective spoke to her. _

_ "Sherlock, go fuck yourself." She snapped, at which the detective's head snapped up at her. _

_ "Do not feel like you can speak to me in that way, miss Hooper." He said, his voice dangerously low._

_ "It's DOCTOR Hooper to you, DOCTOR!" She yelled just as John Watson, the ex-army doctor and current blogger of 'the great Sherlock Holmes' walked in._

_ "Bloody Hell Sherlock, what did you do this time?" He said, giving Molly a sympathetic look._

_ "It's fine, John. Don't worry. I'm done." She said, walking towards the morgue doors, not bothering to retrieve her bag and coat. Before she exited, she turned around once more, looking at Sherlock._

_ "Just know, Mr. Holmes, that you would still be lying somewhere in the gutter, getting off your high if it wasn't for me."_

_Sherlock looked at her, taken aback by her words. He had never told anyone about his previous addictions, only Mycroft knew._

_ "How do you know about that?" He demanded_

_ "Can't you deduce it?" Molly said, turning on her heel and exiting the morgue, knowing it would be the last time._

Molly looked at her own reflection in the mirror and laughed. She hated what she saw. Sherlock Holmes had turned her into a meek, mousy woman without a backbone.

She looked down at her hands, which were holding the knife, pointing it at her stomach. Taking one deep breath, she plunged the knife into her abdomen. The first thing that hit her was the shock, then came the pain. She welcomed it, knowing it would all be over soon.

She heard the faint noise of footsteps in her apartment, but she couldn't care less. The last thing she heard was the baritone voice of Sherlock Holmes before the darkness took her.

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**Yeah... that's it. lemme know what you think. a bit not good, rubbish, a bit good. maybe a next chapter in Sherlocks POV? or Johns?**


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock Holmes was bored.

He sat in his chair at Baker Street, three patches on his arm while trying not to shoot something. He laid down on his couch, bringing his fingers to his lips and diving into his mindpalace. He was shaken out of it by the sound of John's voice.

"Why don't you just go to St. Barts, mate?" The blogger said. "Maybe Molly has some fingers you can borrow."

Sherlock jumped up and shrugged on his coat, looping on his scarf on his way.

When Sherlock arrived at the morgue, he saw in an instant that Molly was having a bad day. That was something he couldn't have at the moment. Things shot through his mindpalace. Things to say that he thought would make her feel better.

"Your eyes are red and puffy, your hair is a mess and the make-up you are currently wearing to hide the bags under your eyes is smeared by your tears." He said, looking up at her once. He was ignored. 'that is new'. He thought. Then he remembered something else.

"Miss Hooper, do stop sulking about the fact that it is the anniversary of your father death and do your job, you are acting rather unprofessional. " But Molly Hooper would not budge, which annoyed him. Sherlock was not used to being ignored.

"If you behave like this every time you have something to be emotional about, I can understand why you do not have any relations. It is highly likely that this is your high school experience all over again, isn't it?"He could feel Molly's eyes, burning in his back. He didn't look up until he heard her speak.

"Sherlock, go fuck yourself." She snapped. Sherlock was surprised. He hadn't expected that kind of a reaction. He had done her a kindness, hadn't he?

"Do not feel like you can speak to me in that way, miss Hooper." He said, his voice dangerously low, knowing that that would shut the pathologist up. But it didn't

"It's DOCTOR Hooper to you, DOCTOR!" She yelled. This time, Sherlock was the one to have no words. He heard the morgue doors open and in no time, John Watson was standing next to him, shooting him a look that could kill.

"Bloody Hell Sherlock, what did you do this time?" He said, which confused Sherlock. He hadn't done anything. Sherlock always was an idiot when it came to emotions.

"It's fine, John. Don't worry. I'm done."He heard Molly say. What did she mean, done? His experiment wasn't even close to done and he needed the lab. He saw Molly practically running towards the door. She turned around one more time.

"Just know, Mr. Holmes, that you would still be lying somewhere in the gutter, getting off your high if it wasn't for me."

Sherlock looked at her, taken aback by her words. He had never told anyone about his previous addictions, only Mycroft knew.

"How do you know about that?" He demanded

"Can'tyou deduce it?" Molly said, turning on her heel and exiting the morgue.

Sherlock immediately went into his mindpalace, but came out blank. How did she know that? He would have to ask Mycroft.

He arrived at the Diogenes Club not long after he left Barts. He walked straight into his brothers office.

"How does she know?" He said, not quite raising his voice but the closest thing to it.

"Ah, brother dear. I expected you." Mycroft said, a small, sarcastic smile playing on his lips.

"Tell me. Now."

Mycroft sighed and stood up from his chair, walking around his desk to stand in front of his little brother.

"She always knew, Sherlock. She knows because she was there." Mycroft answered after a short silence.

"I would remember something as important as that, Brother." Sherlock exclaimed. "You were the one to send me to rehab."

"Are you sure about that? How would I get someone as stubborn as yourself into rehabilitation when it is against said persons will?"

Sherlock had to think about this. He surely was a stubborn teen, and Mycroft had a point; if he hadn't wanted to go to rehab, he wouldn't have gone.

"But how did I end up in rehab then?" He asked. He sounded like an eight year old again. The one who cried when his big brother left for boarding school, begging him to stay.

"Molly Hooper." Mycroft answered.

Sherlock didn't understand.

"But I met miss Hooper 6 years ago. I got clean over 10."

Mycroft sighed, a sound that lingered between amused and annoyed by his brothers naivety.

"You met her 13 years ago, Sherlock. You went to the same high school. You were her only friend, and you were hers, if you could call _that _friendship."

Then, something snapped in Sherlock's brain. All the memories came back. Molly being his chemistry partner, her pulling him out of an alley and helping him get off his high. Her calling him in tears about her father's passing and him reacting like the cold-hearted man he was. One particular conversation came in mind.

_Sherlock opened his eyes and saw where he was. He was in Molly Hooper's room. He sat up, trying to ignore the headache from Hell he had. Then Molly walked in, a glass of water in her hand._

_ "Oh hello, you're awake." She said. Sherlock was impressed, because under other circumstances, Molly would have stuttered and blushed in his presence._

_ "Drink this." _

_Sherlock did as he was told, not taking his eyes of her. She didn't look back at him, and busied herself with filling another glass of water instead._

_ "I would give you painkillers, but thinking about the situation, that would probably not be a good idea." Sherlock only nodded._

_They were silent for a moment, until Sherlock started speaking._

_ "How did you find me?" He asked her, his voice small._

_ "You came here. You were high as a kite, so I put you in my bed." She answered. Again, he just nodded._

_ "You could've died tonight, Sherlock." Molly spoke, her voice dead serious. "You were this close to an overdose." _

_ "I know." He finally said._

_ "You have to stop, Sherlock. Or one day you won't be so lucky and you will die." Molly's voice was broken now, and her eyes shone with unshed tears. _

_ "You have to stop. If you don't, I will give up on you." She said. A tear escaped from her hold and rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away with the back of her hand._

_ "One more time, and I'm done." With that, she left the room._

_Sherlock sat on the bed for a long time after that, just letting what had happened sink in. He drank the other glass of water and dialed a number on his phone._

_ "Hello?" a voice said._

_ "Yes, Mycroft? I think it's time."_

Sherlock ran out of the Diogenes Club and made his way to Molly's apartment.

She was done. Not because he had done drugs again, he hadn't, but because he had pushed her too far. His deductions that afternoon had struck a chord. Telling her off about her childhood had been too much and Sherlock now knew what she had meant with her words. Suicide.

Molly was going to kill herself and it was his fault.

Sherlock jumped into a cab and all but yelled her address to the cabbie, telling him to hurry.

He arrived at the flat. The door was locked, but he easily picked the lock. He called out her name multiple times. When she didn't react, he first checked her bedroom, searching for his pathologist. When he didn't see her there, he ran to the bathroom. He opened the door and gasped at the sight. Molly Hooper was lying on the ground, a knife plunged into her abdomen. A puddle of blood was forming around her petite frame. She looked pale, paler than himself and most of all; she wasn't moving. He dropped to his knees beside her and gathered her in his arms.

"Molly! Molly you have to stay awake. Stay with me." He begged her. He took out his phone and texted John and Lestrade as quick as he could, never letting go of her body. He felt something wet on his cheeks, thinking it was Molly's blood, he didn't give it any other thought.

"Molly, I'm sorry. Come back to me."

When the paramedics, Lestrade and John arrived, they were met by the sight of Sherlock rocking back and forth with Molly Hooper in his arms, her body pressed to his chest. They pried him away from her, bringing her to the nearest hospital as quick as possible. Sherlock never let go of her hand.

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**So yeah.. 2nd chapter. let me know your thoughts. good/not good. also if you want another chapter.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Yeah, last chapter is in. **

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The first thing Molly registered was the beeping. A constant, annoying sound that started to drive her mad. She opened her eyes, but her sight was blurry at first. Everything she saw was white. Before she reclaimed her sight, she got her sense of smell back. The smell of chemicals hit her in the face like a brick. A hospital, then. She noticed a slight pressure on her hand, and turning around, she could make out a dark, lanky form sitting at her bedside, holding her hand. The black the figure wore contrasted greatly with the white of the room. When her sight got better, she saw who exactly the man was.

Sherlock was sitting at Molly's bedside. With his eyes closed and his hand in hers, he went into his mindpalace, just thinking about her. He was shaken out of it by a small noise coming from his side. He opened his eyes and found Molly's big doe eyes looking at him. They just sat there, locking gazes for a moment. The silence was broken by a nurse walking in to check on Molly.

"Ah, miss Hooper, I see you are awake." She chirped cheerfully.

"Obviously, and it's doctor Hooper." Sherlock cut in. His voice was raw. Molly squeezed his hand a little, after which Sherlock relaxed in his chair. He still didn't let go.

The nurse checked on Molly's injury, making sure it wasn't infected or if there were any other complications. After about 10 minutes, Molly and Sherlock were once again left alone.

Molly looked down at their intertwined fingers. She could feel Sherlock's eyes on her. It was silent until Sherlock started speaking slowly.

"I remember." He said. His voice was soft, almost a whisper. Molly looked up to lock eyes with him.

"I am sorry, Molly. You have every right to be upset with me, but please, don't do that again." He lifted their intertwined hands and hold them against his chest. "Don't scare me like that again."

"I-" Molly began, but her throat felt raw, so she motioned to the water. Sherlock picked the glass up and held it in front of her, the straw pointed to her mouth so she could sip some of it. She drank some and shot Sherlock a small, sad smile. He put the glass back and retook a hold of Molly's hand.

"I just can't live like this anymore, Sherlock. I really can't." She said after clearing her throat. Sherlock's eyes were now glazed over with tears, but he wouldn't let them fall, he had to be the strong one now.

"Yes you can, Molly. You are young, pretty and intelligent, you are the top pathologist at St. Barts, how would your life be hard?" He really did not understand.

"Because you keep treating me like I am a bag of dirt. Probably even less than that."

Molly looked at her lap, where her other hand lay. She could almost hear Sherlock think. His eyes were still shining but had now adapted a stern look.

"How could you even think that?" He began. "Of course you are more to me than that!" His voice was louder now, almost yelling.

"Well, you don't show it!" Molly replied, her voice matching his in decibel. "You know how hard it is to see you every day, to work with you even though I love you so much and I know that you will never, never love me back?" The words were out before she could stop. She pulled her hand out of his and planted it in her lap, fidgeting with her other hand.

"Love."Sherlock said. "You- You love me?" He was taken aback. He wasn't lovable. He liked to think John was 'fond' of him, that Lestrade saw him as convenient. But no one loved him. "You don't love me, Molly. Nobody is able to love me."

Molly looked at the Consulting Detective and saw just how vulnerable the man could be. It were these moments that made her fall in love even deeper.

"Yes, we are, Sherlock. John loves you, Lestrade, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson. They all love you." Molly said.

"Really?" Sherlock questioned her, the tears he had hold back for so long finally starting to fall. Molly nodded and took his hand in hers this time.

"Molly, I don't know if I am able to love."Sherlock started, carefully picking his words. "But I do care for you, a great deal. When I remembered, I was so, dare I say it, scared. Scared that I would be too late to save you. And when I found you- I never want to feel like that again." Molly cupped his cheek with her free hand and smiled a little.

"You won't have to, Sherlock. I'm not going anywhere." She said.

"Do you promise that? Please promise me that, Molly." Sherlock insisted, putting his free hand over her smaller one rested on his cheek. Molly nodded and Sherlock let out a breath he didn't knew he was holding.

"I am glad I remembered you, Molly Hooper." Sherlock whispered after a moment. "You were right, without you, I would still be lying in the gutter, getting high and drunk. You saved me."

Molly smiled again. She felt tired, and her eyes began to close. Sherlock, of course, noticed.

"Go to sleep, Molly. I will be here when you awake." He bent forwards to press his lips to her forehead in a gentle kiss. "I promise."

Molly closed her eyes, leaned backwards and was asleep when her head hit the pillow. Sherlock looked at the tiny woman in front of him. Her hand was clutched in his, and he couldn't help but smile. She had saved him so many times, and now it was time to repay the favour and save hers. With this thought in his head, he drifted into a peaceful slumber.

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**Let me know your thoughts on this. **

**thank you all for the reviews on the last two chapters, they were lovely.**

**x**


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